Gypsy
by Novus Ordo Seclorum
Summary: April O'Neil-scientist, inventor, and Nobel laureate-looks back on the days of her youth with both fondness and regret. 2k12 Universe, set prior to "The Mutation Situation," rated T to be safe.
1. Lightning Strikes

**Author's Note**:** Hello everyone! This is my first attempt at a TMNT fanfiction. This story follows the 2k12 series…mostly. I came up with the idea prior to "The Mutation Situation," so in the story, April stays underground for a while; however, since word leaked months earlier that Kirby O'Neil would end up being Wingnut, I allude to his mutation. Also, I own neither TMNT nor the song used to inspire this story, "Gypsy" by Fleetwood Mac (although I highly recommend you give it a listen.) Finally, though this story is a one-shot, it grew beyond my initial concept, so I'm posting as two chapters for the sake of readability. That being said, enjoy!**

Lightning Strikes, Maybe Once, Maybe Twice

"_So I'm back, to the velvet underground,_

_Back to the floor, that I love,_

_To a room with some lace and paper flowers,_

_Back to the gypsy, that I was,_

_To the gypsy that I was…"_

-"Gypsy," by Fleetwood Mac

The cursor on the blank page winks at me arrogantly, taunting my inability to commit my thoughts to paper. I've been staring at the screen for the better part of an hour now, but the words simply won't flow. For a moment, I consider feigning illness—it would be easy enough to send someone to the podium to graciously accept the award on my behalf and to crack a joke about how I shouldn't have eaten the _rakfisk_—but it would be a cowardly thing to do. After all, I'm already in Oslo and everyone—from the distinguished to the obscure—will be waiting with bated breath to hear the words of the great April O'Neil.

I've become a legend to them, you see—a hero. They believe me to be a prodigy—a once-in-a-millennium intellect whose inventions have changed the world. They have awarded me the Nobel Prize an unprecedented three times—twice in physics and once in medicine—for my contributions to humanity. When my admirers compliment me, they say I possess an ethereal quality—something that can't be put into words: a romantic would tell you that they are in awe of my presence, of standing before the mind that brought the world into a new age of technological advancement; a cynic would tell you that they are bald-faced flatterers. Perhaps both arguments can be made, but neither is correct. I am a fraud and everything about me is a lie.

I fumble through my purse and pull out a pack of Djarum Cloves and a book of matches. Then, I walk to the mini-bar in my suite and pour two fingers of whiskey into a rocks glass. I don't bother adding ice. I unlock the door to the balcony and step into the milky moonlight beyond. I light the cigarette and take a long drag; smoke fills my lungs and soothes my frazzled nerves. Unencumbered by pretense, my mind wanders. When I think about how I have gotten to this point in my life, I find myself returning to the same moment in time—the night the Kraang kidnapped my father. I didn't know it then, but life as I knew it would never be the same—never as honest and never as simple.

* * *

It isn't easy being sixteen, but it is especially difficult when your entire world is stripped away from you. If you would have told me that inter-dimensional aliens aspiring to take over the world would abduct my father, I would have recommended you take an extended stay in a padded room with a roommate who spends their time crocheting imaginary sweaters. But it happened. At first, I didn't know whether to cry or scream. The prospect of facing the world without my father's love and guidance absolutely terrified me and what I knew of his captors did little to temper my fears. Fortunately, four friendly faces looked my way and offered their help.

Strange and unusual things can be seen on a daily basis in New York City, to the point where you become desensitized; some encounters, however, are just too jarring—too monumental to downplay. That's what meeting the guys was like. In an instant, I found myself trying to wrap my mind around—and this sounds terrible—_what_ they were. I had never seen anything like them before. Nothing even came close. At first—and I am a bit ashamed to admit this—I was afraid. But their actions spoke volumes. When the dust and rubble settled and they stood before me with concern and warmth in their eyes, I knew that what was most extraordinary about them was not their appearance, but their spirit.

The days that followed are some of the happiest I can recall. My new friends—Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, and Michelangelo—though incredibly gifted, had little working knowledge of life aboveground. Most of what they knew they gleaned from televisions shows—and bad ones at that. I was more than eager to shepherd them through the streets of New York and show them what I loved most about the city. Every outing was an adventure—a new experience waiting to be lived. Yes, a lot of terrible things had happened. Yes, there was evil afoot. And yes, Earth itself was in jeopardy. But their buoyancy—the way they could plunge into the deepest depths yet remain above it all—healed the fractures in my faith and helped me to see the good in the world.

Just as they took an immediate interest in my life and the world in which I lived, I admired theirs. Perhaps it was because they were so unlike anyone else I knew. They were unafraid of hard work, discipline, and rigid regimentation; in fact, they thrived on it. They were graceful, tactful, and cunning; yet, they were just as prone to throw caution to the wind and act spontaneously. Early on, we were simply drawn together: we shared a common enemy and had common interests. They had skills and abilities far beyond my wildest dreams while normalcy and discretion allowed me to undertake covert missions and reconnaissance. If fate hadn't intervened, our relationship may never have gone further; however, when I became a bartering chip for the Shredder and the Foot Clan, I was forced underground.

You never truly understand someone until you have lived with them in close quarters. Prior to my time in hiding, I believed I knew them all reasonably well; little did I know that I had barely begun to scratch the surface. The longer I spent in asylum, the more I came to respect and appreciate them as individuals. After all, without a variety of personalities with which to interact, a life lived in relative isolation would seem hardly a life worth living. Fortunately for me, the Turtles had personality to spare.

When I needed to calm my mind, I sought out Leonardo. There was quiet elegance about him that I greatly admired. His intense focus when coupled with his deep reverence for tradition fueled an unparalleled desire for perfection. He would train for hours: every movement had to be crisp and clean, every strike decisive, and every _kata_ flawlessly executed. He didn't waste words, either, and kept quite a bit to himself. But I never confused his silence for a lack of mental acuity. There was a time just before a battle with the Foot Clan when he sat at the table staring into space.

"Leo, are you okay?" I asked. He paid me no mind.

"Leo?" I waved my hand in front of his face, hoping to snap him out of it. Again, nothing.

"LEO!" I roared. It was loud enough that Donatello, who was working in his lab, poked his head out to see what was going on. Leo, though, simply raised his eyes to meet mine.

"Oh, hey April. What's up?"

"Are you alright?" I tried not to sound freaked out.

"Oh, yeah." A faint smile graced his face. "I was just thinking."

"Penny for your thoughts?"

I sat beside him at the table. He sighed heavily and roughly rubbed the back on his neck, working the stiffness from his shoulders.

"With the Foot Clan and the Kraang working together, things have become more complicated. On their own, they are formidable, but together…"

"They'll be tough to bring down." I offered, finishing his thought.

"Yeah… Raph seems to think that we need to make a stand, a show of force to let the Foot and the Kraang know that we aren't going to sit back and wait for them to put their plans in motion. Donnie thinks that it would be more—what was the word he used—'prudent' to wait a little while longer. Maybe see if we can stay a step or two ahead."

"And what do you think?"

"They're both right. That's the problem. If we attack, we put our lives at risk; but, if we're successful, we could derail or delay whatever Shredder and the Kraang have planned. If we stay put, we stay safe; but, it gives Shredder and the Kraang valuable time to get organized and an organized enemy is a dangerous enemy."

I put my hand on his shoulder. "I can't tell you what to do and I definitely don't envy the decision you'll have to make, but I know you'll make the right call. When things get bad and the odds are stacked against you guys, somehow you always come out on top. You'll figure this out and when you do, the Kraang and the Foot won't know what hit them."

He nodded in consideration.

"I keep running through scenarios in my head." He said evenly. "And the more I do, the more uncertain I feel. I just don't want to make the wrong choice or approach this the wrong way…"

"You won't."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because you've been sitting here staring at a wall and thinking about it for a couple of hours now. Whatever you choose to do, it won't be some last second, spur-of-the-moment decision."

I got up from the table and turned toward Donatello's lab.

"April?" Leo called. I turned and faced him. "Thanks."

When they gave him a hard time for being out-of-touch or "uncool," I often wondered whether or not his brothers understood how much Leo had on his mind. It was a burden he carried at all times; it was a burden he concealed at all costs.

* * *

Raphael taught me a great deal about passion. He never did anything halfway; if he devoted himself to something, he did so completely. It was a quality that served him well…usually. In battle, it made him fierce, tough, and indomitable—a highly trained martial artist with the mentality of a street brawler. But the same quality that made him a great fighter put a strain on his relationships. He could be hotheaded and impetuous. He was stubborn to a fault. And when it came to matters of the heart, he kept everyone an arm's length away. He was difficult to read and volatile—not a combination that generally works well. But as I got to know him, it became clear there was much more to him than sarcasm and surliness.

Every mission is dangerous. Every mission is potentially fatal. But one in particular stands out. Winter had a stranglehold over the city. The air was the icy breath of Death and the trees, leafless and spindly, resembled skeletal hands stretching to the heavens. The guys, vulnerable to extremely cold temperatures, were not at their best—perhaps a step or two slower than usual—but the mission came first. They discovered a covert Kraang communications hub and hoped to disrupt the chain-of-command by destroying it. Once inside, though, something went wrong: the Kraang saw them coming and opened fire. They tried to press on—to complete their objective—but they were outnumbered and outgunned. During the battle, Michelangelo went down, shot in the thigh and shoulder.

By the time they returned to the lair, Michelangelo had already lost a great deal of blood. He lay motionless on a table in Donatello's lab, his shallow, rhythmic breaths the only discernible sign of life. Raph refused to leave him. He didn't sleep and wouldn't eat. After two days passed, I became concerned.

"How are you holding up, Raph?" I asked. My words, however, didn't reach him. He sat, arms folded across his chest, with his eyes fixed on Michelangelo.

"Are you hungry? I brought you some Ramen. I know it isn't much, but you haven't eaten in a couple days now…"

I couldn't think of anything else to say. Words seemed inadequate. I set the soup beside him and turned to leave him to his thoughts.

"Shoulda been me." He murmured. He shook his head and cast down his eyes. "Not him…"

"Don't say that."

"Why not? It's true."

"What do you mean?"

He rose stiffly from his chair and stepped toward me. "What do I mean? I mean what I said. It should be me on that table, not Mikey. I didn't wanna fall back when Leo gave the order. I wanted to keep goin', keep fightin'. But they just kept comin' and comin'. No matter how many I took down there were more. Next thing I know, Mikey's next to me. He's tryin' to help, tryin' to get me outta there. And then…" He took hold of the chair and smashed it against the wall and floor until only broken shards remained. When his rage petered out, he withered to the floor. He panted heavily on his hands and knees and clutched his side.

"Are you okay?" I knelt beside him.

With a snort, he winced, gritted his teeth, and stumbled to his feet. "I'm…I'm fine. Just tired, I guess."

"I don't believe you."

"Whatever…" He grumbled. He held his side tightly and controlled his breathing to mitigate the pain.

"Move your hand." I demanded.

"N-no." He retorted brusquely. "Leave me alone."

"You know I'm just as stubborn as you." I shot back. "And I'm not leaving until you move your hand."

He glared at me, hoping to shatter my resolve. When he realized I meant what I said, he rolled his eyes in exasperation and did as I asked. The wound was under his right arm. It was several inches long, filled with congealed blood, and bordered by charred flesh. A gasp escaped me.

"Raph, this is serious. We gotta have Donnie take a look at it."

"It's just a graze. I'll be fine." He griped. His body trembled and he leaned against the wall for support. "'Sides, I…I don't wanna leave him by himself. He doesn't like to be alone…"

Despite his protestations, he allowed me to clean and dress his wound so long as I didn't tell Leo or Donnie about it. He didn't want to be "babied" or made to rest. All he wanted was to be by Mikey's side when he awoke. Though he argued with and teased Mikey mercilessly, it was clear his true feelings lay deeper—far beneath the steely veneer he wore to face the world.

* * *

Ironically, Michelangelo was the most difficult for me to understand. For the longest while I assumed I had him figured out; in fact, it wouldn't be a stretch to say I had written him off. At a glance, he was aloof. While the others would debate strategies or ideas, he would remain detached from it all—in a world entirely his own. In combat, though he was highly skilled, he was indecisive and the blows he did land lacked conviction. I suspected—and again, it sounds awful—that he wasn't dedicated enough to be on par with his brothers. I couldn't have been more wrong.

Aside from possessing a delightful sense of humor, an endearing child-like innocence, and an inherently kind soul, Michelangelo was also the most emotionally intelligent person I had ever met. He had an uncanny knack—almost a sixth sense—for interpreting the emotions of others and providing exactly what they needed to move forward. As he healed from his injuries, I began to face the grim reality of my father's fate. At the time, I was bitter. I wanted the world to suffer as I was suffering. I isolated myself and pushed everyone who tried to help me away—until Mikey pushed back.

When I was at my worst, I had a nightly ritual: the guys would go out and patrol, Master Splinter would meditate, and I would go to the training room and work the heavy bag until my hands bled. This particular evening, though, was different: Michelangelo stayed behind and was training, working his way back to full strength.

"Hey April." He said in between push-ups. "What's up?"

I walked past him without a word and positioned myself in front of my threadbare canvas opponent. My first blow sounded with a dull thud.

"You gotta keep your shoulders square." He said has he transitioned seamlessly from calisthenics to a sequence of _katas_. I responded with another blow to the bag.

"You needta drive all the way through when you hit. It'll hurt more that way."

Rage coursed through me. I was a powder keg beside and open flame. I struck the bag again.

"Keep your wrist straight. You're gonna hurt yourself if you don't."

"Do you EVER shut up?!" The words, sharp and callous, escaped me. "I don't want help…especially from you!"

He stopped what he was doing and turned to me. "April, look…I…"

"You think you know it all, don't you? DON'T YOU?! Haven't you done enough?! My life was just fine until you showed up. Now everybody wants me chained up or worse, I'm stuck in this godforsaken sewer, and my dad is a mutant FREAK." I was mere inches from him. My fists were tightly balled and poised to strike. With a single step, he closed the distance between us. Angry and confused, I pushed him away. He stumbled back a step, regained his balance, and approached yet again.

"Just leave me ALONE!" I jammed my fists into his plastron—harder this time—to drive my point home. He anticipated the move and absorbed the blow.

"I MEAN it!" I bellowed, striking him once more.

"It's okay, April." He whispered. He shrugged and upturned his hands. "It's okay... I can take it."

He was willing to drop his guard and let me take my anger out on him. He had been through hell trying to help me and had the scars to prove it, yet he was willing to endure more pain to spare me mine. Tears welled in my eyes. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around me as I collapsed to the floor and sobbed.

"Everything's gonna be alright." He cooed. "You're gonna be fine…"

He held me until I dried my eyes. For the first time in a long while, the world didn't seem a cruel and unforgiving place.

* * *

I light a second cigarette off of the dying embers of the first and down the glass of whiskey. I savor the fleeting sense of warmth it brings and head back into my room for a refill. Thoughts of Donatello are often accompanied by unpleasant memories of how things between us went awry. I find that it is easier to confront my demons when I am drunk. It's a damn cowardly of me, but on the list of reasons why I dislike myself, it hardly ranks.

While his brothers certainly taught me about life, Donnie taught me about love. Early on, it was apparent that he had feelings for me. He tried to hide it—perhaps to save himself from embarrassment or heartache—but his actions betrayed him: when I needed someone to talk to, he was there; when I needed someone to lean on, he was there; and when my mind begged to be occupied, he had a project at-the-ready and an extra stool beside his workbench. It wasn't long before his kind gestures grew grander.

My first week living underground was the most difficult. Mild claustrophobia aside, my mind was restless. Every time I closed my eyes, I was jolted awake by thoughts of the Kraang. I would lie in the dark listening to the sounds of the world underground: rivulets of water trickling, dripping, or spilling forth; the footfalls of small creatures meandering about; the distant hum of traffic from above or the grumbling of the subway. Eventually, I gave up on sleep, got to my feet, and gingerly made my way toward the kitchen. I started the kettle on the stove and pulled a mug from the cupboard. That's when I noticed a shaft of light shining from beneath the door of Donnie's lab. I knocked gently; he answered promptly, his welding goggles perched atop his head.

"Oh hey, April." He stifled a yawn. "Can't get to sleep?"

"Not so much. I was just making some tea. Would you like some?"

"Yeah," His expression brightened. "That would be great!"

His enthusiasm made me smile. I turned and pulled a second mug from the cupboard. "What are you working on, Donnie?"

"I've been analyzing the power cells the Kraang use in their blasters. If I can reverse-engineer the design, I can repurpose the technology and put it to better use."

"Better use?" I poured the water into the mugs and let the tea steep; tendrils of steam rose and danced in the air. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well, the possibilities are endless." He emerged from his lab and pulled up a chair at the table. "The most practical choice would be to upgrade the Shellraiser. Maybe add energy cannons of our own or divert the power through a series of matrices to form a deflector shield."

"You could do that?"

"It might take some time, but I'm fairly certain it can be done." I handed him his mug and took a seat across from him. "That would be small potatoes, though. Tech this sophisticated should be used to improve the human condition. Can you imagine it? A world with clean, sustainable energy? A world where lost limbs can be replaced by fully functional prosthetics? Where people can live longer, happier, and more independent lives?" His eyes were alight and his smile widened. "But I don't want to get too ahead of myself."

I sipped my tea and he his. "I think it is great. Too many people think only of themselves. The world needs dreamers, Donnie. Dreamers change the world."

He blushed and giggled nervously. He drew a breath to speak then stammered and wringed his hands.

"You look absolutely exhausted." He noted, changing the subject. "How long has it been since you've slept?"

"How many days have I been down here?"

"Five."

"Then I guess it has been five days. I've just had a lot on my mind. I've been thinking about my dad—worrying about him, wondering how he is doing, hoping he's okay…" I sighed then added, "And I guess I'm a bit homesick, too."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No, no…" I replied. "You and the guys have already gone above and beyond for me. You've taken me in and kept me safe. It'll just take some time to get used to living down here. Up above, the noises are different and it isn't as dark…" I rubbed my eyes with my thumb and forefinger and quickly changed gears. "Sorry, I'm rambling. I don't mean to sound ungrateful, especially after you have all been so good to me. I'll adjust."

He smiled, thanked me for the tea, and excused himself; I decided to give sleep another shot.

A couple days passed before I gave our late night conversation much thought. I hadn't seen Donatello since and worried that something I said had offended him. He withdrew completely and remained in his lab. Though protracted periods of work or study were characteristic of him, I was concerned. At times, feverish bouts of activity could be heard—various tools droning, objects being dragged across the floor, the hammering of metal—followed by long stretches of silence. It wasn't until a third day had passed that the door to the lab finally swung open and he stepped out. He looked ragged—physically and mentally drained.

"April," His voice was hoarse. "Do you have a minute? I've been working on something I'd like to show you."

"Donnie, is everything okay?" I asked. "You've been shut up in there for days…"

"I'm better than okay." He rasped. His smile carved a path across his face.

"What is it you'd like to show me?"

"Telling you would ruin the surprise!" He replied. He held out his hand to me. "Close your eyes and I'll take you there… And no peeking!"

Initially, I thought it to be an odd request, but I relented; Donnie's excitement triggered mine. I covered my eyes with one hand, gave him the other, and he led me through a series of serpentine turns.

"Alright April," His words dripped with anticipation. "You can open your eyes now!"

The sight that greeted me took my breath away: it was a room. Lace adorned the walls and cascaded to the floor. Strings of lights and phosphorescent paint were painstakingly applied to the ceiling to mimic the night's sky; a handful of origami cranes swirled amidst the stars. A queen-sized bed lay on the floor, covered by a crushed velvet quilt; two small nightstands flanked the bed—a vase with paper flowers topped one and a candelabra the other.

"Donnie…" Elation and disbelief left me speechless. "How did you..?"

"Do you like it?" He asked.

"It's…it's beautiful. I…I don't know what to say…"

"Leo, Raph, and Mikey helped, too. They did quite a bit of the legwork; they found most of the fabric in boxes behind the defunct futon factory. I welded the walls together and designed the ceiling. Getting the bed was actually the most difficult part…"

Before he could finish, I wrapped my arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. In a single act, he gave me a place in his world; what's more, he carved it from the epicenter of his universe—his lab. It was one of the kindest, most thoughtful things anyone had ever done for me. That night, I slept soundly.

After that, our relationship deepened. I became his confidant, and he mine. Together, we reveled in the afterglow of victory; together, we shouldered the sorrow of defeat. When I was scared, anxious, or feeling low, he knew exactly what to do to help me through; when he isolated himself or worked too hard, I knew how to set him at ease and bring him back to the present. And when it was quiet and we were alone, time passed swiftly and with remarkable sweetness.


	2. I Have No Fear, I Have Only Love

I Have No Fear, I Have Only Love

"_She is dancing away from you now,_

_She is just a wish,_

_She is just a wish,_

_And her memory is all that is left for you now,_

_You see your gypsy…_

_You see your gypsy…"_

-"Gypsy," by Fleetwood Mac

By the time the Kraang were defeated and the portal between our dimensions was sealed irrevocably, a great deal had changed. Over two years had passed and I had grown restless. I yearned to spread my wings—to return to the world above and forge a life of my own; however, the thought of leaving my surrogate family behind pained me greatly. In my mind, both courses of action had drawbacks: if I stayed, life could slip through my fingers; but if I chose to go, I risked leaving everything familiar behind—everything I had grown to care for. It was the most difficult decision I ever made.

In the dead of night, I packed what little I had into a pillowcase. I wanted to leave quietly, without fanfare or goodbyes. I felt it would be for the best. I knew there was no way to explain my desire to return to the surface without belittling life underground. I tied the pillowcase shut, slung it over my shoulder, and peered into Donnie's lab. Though the lights were on, he wasn't there. I assumed he turned in for the night like the others. I tiptoed from my room and carefully closed the door behind me. Then, sticking to the shadows, I glanced into the common areas of the lair. Aside from the soft flickering of the television, it was dark. I listened intently for signs of movement and heard nothing. The coast was clear. I slid from the lab, through the lair, to the turnstiles. Nostalgia momentarily paralyzed me. Two years of memories flooded my mind and I wondered whether I was making the right choice. As quickly as it came, though, the moment passed. I vaulted over the turnstiles, crept down the stairs, and turned down the main tunnel.

Excitement mounted with each passing step. I didn't know where I was going to go or what I was going to do when I got there, and that was what thrilled me. The future belonged to me and I could mold it how I saw fit. I longed to fill my lungs with fresh air; to rest my eyes on the cityscape; and when dawn broke, to feel the sun caress my skin. Adrift in my reverie, I rounded the final turn.

"April?" A familiar voice snapped me to reality. I spun around. Donatello stood mere feet away clutching a box of salvaged equipment.

"Donnie, hey…" I muttered. My heart raced. "Whatcha up to?"

"I stopped by the junkyard. I figured tonight was as good as any to go scavenging for parts." He stepped from the shadows. That was when he noticed the makeshift satchel tossed over my shoulder. His smile faded and he set down the box he was carrying. "April, what's going on?"

"I…I, uh…" I tried to think of a convincing explanation, but nothing came to mind. I swallowed hard and braced myself for the worst. "I'm… I'm leaving, Donnie."

"Leaving?" He spoke the word as though he had never heard it before. "I don't understand…"

"I've been doing a lot of thinking lately…" I balled my hands to keep them from trembling. "I haven't been happy for a while now. I'm eighteen—going to be nineteen in a few months—and I have missed out on so much: school, graduation, college, holding a crappy part-time job, and everything in between. I don't want to wake up one morning and realize that life has passed me by…"

"H-How long have you felt this way?"

"A couple of months."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I…I guess I didn't know what to say…or how to say it." I averted my eyes to the ground to avoid his. "Living with you guys has been an experience I will never forget. You protected me when I needed it most and welcomed me with open arms. I will always be grateful for that…but I can't stay…"

"I can fix this." He said as if to convince himself. "I can make this work. Just give me a little time and you'll see."

"You can't." I replied tersely. My throat tightened and my stomach fluttered. "I know you want to, but you can't."

"But I could—"

"No!" I raised my voice. "You can't. I'm tired, Donnie. I'm tired of hiding and living in the dark. I'm tired of seeing the same four walls every day. And I'm tired of wasting time waiting to get my life back. I've made up my mind…"

"So that's it?" He bristled. "You were just going to leave?! Were you even going to say goodbye?"

Ashamed, I sighed. My silence provided his answer.

"After everything we've been through together…" He shook his head in disbelief. "Did you think we wouldn't understand? That we wouldn't care? You're not the only one this decision effects…"

"Don't you think I know that?" The words sprang forth more callously than intended.

"Do you?" He asked earnestly. "They've been lying low for now, but have you considered what might happen if Shredder and the Foot Clan come after you? Have you even thought that through?"

"I have."

"And..?"

"Things are different now. I have a couple years of training under my belt. Besides, with the Kraang gone, they have no use for me."

"NO USE?!" His eyes widened. "They would use you to get to us, to draw us out. So long as the Foot is around, you're in danger."

"What do you want me to do, Donnie? Stay down here forever? What's the point of being given a second chance at life if you spend it living in fear?"

"No one's asking you to. All I'm asking is for you to delay your plans just a little while longer. Maybe talk things over with Sensei…"

"No!" I growled; he recoiled slightly. "If I go back to the lair with you and speak with Master Splinter, he will list the reasons why it is safer for me down here. But that is never going to change. Withdrawing from the world is safer than living in it, but what kind of life is that? I'd rather take my chances topside."

I turned to go, but he pulled me back.

"You don't get to do that." He said, scolding me. "You don't get to make people care about you and then just toss them aside like they don't matter. All we want is what's best for you—why don't you see that?!"

"If you want what's best for me, you'll let me go." I tried to pull away but I couldn't break his grip.

"What about Leo, Raph, and Mikey?" He continued. "You're willing to put your life at risk, but what about theirs? Or Sensei's?" He loosened his hold on me. "Or mine..? April, I know you're upset—angry, even—but if you leave it makes our battle against Shredder and the Foot that much more difficult. If something were to happen to you, I don't know if I could…"

He trailed off. A sinking feeling crept over me and I began to panic.

"Don't!" I snapped. "Don't you dare say it! I never asked for any of this. My life was fine before. It wasn't perfect, but it was _mine._ It's been so long since I have lived—_really lived—_that I've forgotten what it's like…"

"So the past two years…" His voice quavered. "All the time we spent together…everything we've done… It means nothing to you?"

"No…" I lied. I intended to sound forceful, but the word clung to my lips and sounded disingenuous. Again, I turned away. I didn't want him to see me cry.

"April! Please…Please don't go…" He pleaded. "I…I love you…"

I stopped in my tracks. "Donnie…don't…"

He stepped in front of me and put one hand on my shoulder. He lifted my chin with the other, forcing me to meet his gaze.

"I've loved you from the moment I first saw you. These past years have meant everything to me. Just being close to you makes each day brighter." He swallowed hard. "I need you to look me in the eye and tell me you don't feel the same way."

My heart hammered. Though I loved him deeply, I could never love him freely. He had given me the stars, but he could never give me the life I envisioned. It seemed there would always be something standing in our way.

"Is that it?" I murmured. "Is that what you need to hear? I don't… and I never will…"

Tears pooled in his eyes. His hand slipped from my shoulder and fell to his side. With mere words I inflicted more pain than any weapon. I pushed passed him, but he grabbed my hand again.

"April…p-please…" He spoke between sobs.

"Let GO of me!" I snarled. I pulled my hand from his and took several steps before he snatched it up again.

"April…wait…"

"NO!" I swirled around and slapped him across the face. Shocked, he stumbled back. That's when I saw the blood. Four jagged marks extended across his cheek. He brought his hand to the wounds and looked to me. Even at his worst, I had never seen him in so much pain. I turned and ran. It was all I could do to keep my heart from breaking.

* * *

I down a second glass of whiskey, then a third. My arms and legs feel unusually heavy and my stomach, steeped in alcohol, burns like hell. The room teeters and sways as I make my way to the bed. Once there, I collapse. I close my eyes, cradle my face in my hands, and yearn to forget—for the past to slip into oblivion. But time is cruel. Long stretches of time can pass before we truly see the wisdom or folly of our choices. It didn't take long for me to understand that I acted foolishly, but it took years to realize the magnitude of my mistake.

I didn't simply return to the world, I thrust myself into it. There was so much I wanted to do and so much time to make up for that few moments laid idle. I focused the bulk of my energy on finishing school; I worked harder than I ever had academically and managed to finish a year and a half of coursework in just over six months. Then, I set my sights on college. Between my SAT scores and my father's notoriety, I received scholarships from several reputable universities. Ultimately, I decided to go to Stanford and to double-major in physics and mechanical engineering. I earned my undergraduate degree in three years and my master's in five. My focus and dedication served me well: my work was regarded highly by my professors and earned the praise of research laboratories across the country.

Yet no matter how I soared, my mind never strayed far from the sewers of New York. I thought of Leo, Raph, Mikey, and Sensei with striking regularity. After years in absentia, the drudgery and listlessness of living underground faded; only happy memories remained, and there were many: Leo reciting lines from _Space Heroes_ when he thought no one was around; overhearing Raph's conversations with Spike; trying Mikey's cooking as he eagerly gauged my reaction; and hanging on Sensei's every word as he told stories that mirrored life and exuded wisdom. I missed them all terribly and I missed who I was when I was around them.

Where Donnie was concerned, it went deeper. He had such a profound impact on my life that I couldn't be certain where his influence ended: the countless hours we spent together working on projects piqued my interest in physics and engineering, our conversations shaped the way I viewed the world, and his myriad qualities and virtues embodied everything I wanted in a man. We had been so close and shared so much, that life without him was hollow. Not a moment passed where I didn't consider picking up my T-phone and apologizing profusely for being cruel and thoughtless. But every time, I lost my nerve. Looking back on it now, I know I was being selfish. I was trying to spare myself pain by letting things lie; after all, by leaving things unsettled, I wasn't sure how he felt about me or what he thought of me. But, if I spoke with him only to discover that he wanted nothing to do with me—and who could blame him—I would finally have to admit to myself that an entire chapter of my life was over. So I kept myself busy and my mind occupied. I plunged headlong into my doctoral work and spent nearly all of my free time in either the lab or library. I knew if I stopped—even for a moment—my subconscious would conjure memories of Donnie—the pain in his eyes as I turned away, the sadness in his voice—and my heart would break all over again.

For the longest while, that was my routine: I lived my life in self-imposed purgatory. I was too weak and cowardly to reach out to them and beg their forgiveness and I was too sentimental to cut my losses and move on. But then one night, as I tossed and turned, my T-phone rang. For the briefest of moments, I thought I was dreaming; when I answered, I was almost certain I was dreaming.

"April?" The voice was unmistakable.

My heart jumped into my throat. "D-Donnie?"

"Sorry for calling so late."

"Erm…uh…D-don't be." I stumbled over my tongue. "I couldn't sleep anyway."

"I have something important I need to discuss with you."

"Absolutely." I managed. "A-any…Anything."

"I know it's a lot to ask, but this needs to be done in person."

I swallowed hard. How could I deny him?

"Alright…s-sure. I'll hop on the next flight."

"Great." He said warmly. "See you soon."

And the next thing I knew, he was gone.

I did a lot of thinking on the flight back to New York. Mainly, I wondered what had changed. It had been almost a decade since I had seen them last—what made Donnie decide to reach out to me? The optimist in me hoped for the best, but my practical side knew he wouldn't turn to me unless he had exhausted all other options. Then I began to fear the worst; countless 'what-ifs' ran through my mind, each more unnerving than the last. By the time the plane landed, I was a panicked wreck. I bolted through the terminal at J.F.K. International and made a beeline to the bar for a quick shot of something strong.

I hailed a taxi and told the driver to take me to Lower Manhattan. The back of the cab reeked. It was like someone used an entire bottle of Old Spice to mask body odor and vomit. My stomach twisted and churned; I wasn't sure if it was because of nerves or nausea, but it took my mind off the remainder of the ride. I had the driver drop me off a block or two away from the apartment where Dad and I lived. I paid the fare and briefly considered taking a walk through the neighborhood, but decided against it. I had grown up there and had many fond memories, but experiences from childhood are never as sweet when they are relived later in life. Instead, I walked down the street in the opposite direction and ducked down an alley with sewer access. I lingered there for a little while and when I finally mustered the courage, I pried the manhole cover from the opening and sent Donnie a message:

_Arriving via Forsyth; see you in a few._

* * *

Familiarity is comforting. Life on the surface constantly changed. Periods of decline and decay followed periods of growth and renewal. But no matter how the surface transformed, the bowels of the city remained unaltered. Though it was pitch black and though I hadn't been underground in years, I navigated effortlessly through the tunnels. My footfalls pattered against the concrete and sloshed through puddles; the air, thick and damp, clung to me like a second skin and chilled me; and the smell—refuse, decaying leaves, and stagnant water—stung my nose. Yet I couldn't recall the last time I felt so at ease.

"You can still find your way, after all these years…"

The words sent a shockwave through me and made me jump. Donnie rounded a corner and approached from the opposite direction.

"I just got your message and figured I would meet you halfway." He said with a smile. "Thanks for coming, April."

"My pleasure."

Awkwardness settled between us. Neither of us knew exactly how to proceed. We once shared everything with one another, but now even a greeting was difficult. When we reached the lair and I could see him in the light, I was taken aback by how he'd changed. His features were harder now, more defined, yet his eyes and smile were as warm as they ever were. The years had been kind to him.

"You look great, Donnie." I offered. "It's so good to see you."

"It's great to see you, too." Ever the gentleman, he gestured for me to pass through the turnstiles before he did. "I was shocked to get ahold of you to be honest. I didn't know if you still had your T-phone."

"I could never part with it." I replied. "It made me feel connected to you guys in some way." I took a deep breath and gathered my bearings. "Besides, there were so many times that I wanted to call, that I wanted to check in, or even just hear your voices…but I always chickened out."

"It's okay. I'm sure you had your reasons."

We sat at the table and he offered me a cup of tea; I accepted. The lair hadn't changed much. Some of the furniture was new and it was cleaner than I remembered, but what stood out most was how quiet it was.

"Are Leo, Raph, and Mikey around? I would love to see them."

"They're out patrolling." He said. He handed me a mug and took a seat. "And…well, they don't know that you're here. I didn't tell them."

"Oh. I-I see…" His words wounded me; in turn, I took a sip of my tea and averted my gaze.

"None of us took it especially well when you left." He continued. "I didn't want to invite you back just to have it end in minced words and hurt feelings."

"I wouldn't blame them if they hated me…"

"They don't _hate_ you, April." He emphasized the word. "I don't want to put words in their mouths by any means, but I think that they felt abandoned. One day you were here, and the next you were gone. It was sudden…jarring. It hurt them deeply enough that they couldn't see the position you were in or the reason behind your decision."

"And you..?"

"You know where I stand." He replied. "That's the reason I asked you here. I have a preposition for you."

Intrigued, I gestured for him to continue. He pulled a flash drive from his belt and laid it on the table.

"On the drive, you'll find specs for several inventions I created over the past few years, most notably a self-sustaining fusion reactor and bio-interfacing robotic prosthetics, both reverse-engineered from Kraang tech. I want you to have them."

I-I don't understand…"

"C'mon, April." He said with a sigh. "I've kept track of all you've accomplished. I followed your career at Stanford from day one. You're considered one of the emerging elite in your field and you haven't even finished your doctorate yet." He composed himself. "I'm suggesting a partnership."

"But why?" I asked, perplexed. "Donnie, you're twice as smart as I am. You don't need me. If anything, I'd be holding you back."

"That's where you're wrong. This doesn't work without you." He leaned in close and looked me in the eye. "I can't do this alone. Take the flash drive, file for the patents, and present one of these inventions as part of your doctoral thesis."

I wrestled with myself. His research and inventions had the potential to change the world. While I whole-heartedly knew passing his work off as my own was highly unethical, a part of me craved the adulation that would follow.

"I can't do that. It wouldn't be right."

"I would be a silent partner, April." He assured me. "No one would ever know."

He was going to such lengths to persuade me that I knew something was up.

"Why are you really doing this? What's going on?"

He gulped his tea, got up from the table, and set his mug in the sink. He held onto the edge of the basin and bore down on it until his knuckles grew pale. After a few deep breaths, he turned and faced me.

"My whole life, I've had a gift." His voice was soft, almost a whisper. "I've always been able to figure out how things work—how to take them apart, put them back together, and keep them functioning properly. It's what I do best. But now…" He shook his head from side to side. "Now, I've come across something I'm completely powerless against. I've done all I can to help, but there's only so much I can do with scrap components and salvaged parts. I mean…he is lying in there right now—and he's probably in pain—and I can't do a damned thing about it."

I put the pieces together. "Sensei?"

He nodded. "It started a couple months back. Little things, you know? We'd be training and he'd be short of breath or he'd twist or turn a certain way and he'd feel a sharp pain. For a while, we thought it was just age catching up to him. But then things got worse. He was always tired and he wasn't as sharp as usual. By the time I convinced him to let me look him over, his condition worsened. Now, he's practically bedridden."

"Do you know what's causing it?"

"X-rays showed a mass in his left lung, but I don't have the equipment or supplies to do much else without doing harm." He pinched his eyes closed and added: "And he'd be furious with me if I told you, but Raph's not doing well, either. He hurt his leg in battle a few years back and he kept quiet about it. Come to find out he tore ligaments in his knee and they never healed properly. He hides it well, but we can tell he is in pain."

I sank in my chair. The situation was as dire as I feared.

"Look," He continued. "I've never asked for much. I've never needed much. Until now, everything I've created has been for me. But circumstances have changed. I can't—and won't—watch my family suffer when it's within my power to prevent it. These inventions are revolutionary. Whoever owns the patents will be extremely wealthy. That's why it has to be you, April. You have the background and pedigree to pull this off and you care enough to help…"

He was offering me an olive branch, an opportunity to start afresh and earn his trust again. "I'll do it…"

He laid his hand upon my own, gave it a gentle squeeze, and smiled. "Thank you."

I savored the feeling. It was like old times, like our years apart were little more than a bad dream. But then, he pulled away.

"Oh!" He exclaimed with a snap of his fingers. "I forgot! There are some components you'll need in order to build the fusion reactor. I left them in the lab."

"Oh…of course…"I sputtered. He rose from the table and motioned for me to follow. The lab was more sophisticated than it was when I left; it was also more crowded. Various devices lined the walls and perimeter. "You've been…really busy…"

He blushed. "Yeah. Once I replicated the design behind the Kraang's power cells, I kept tinkering with different applications for it. I might've gone a bit overboard…"

As he fished through various drawers and crates, I took a closer look at some of his creations. Many were ingenious while some, like the waffle-maker powered by Kraang tech, were ruthlessly absurd. My curiosity pulled me in one direction and then the next until I found myself standing before the door to my old room. I pushed it open. To my surprise, it was just as I left it. I stepped in, sat on the bed, and ran my fingers over the velvet coverlet.

"I never thought I'd see you in here again." He quipped, standing at the doorway.

"Me neither. I figured you would be using it for storage or something."

He smiled and joined me on the bed. "Right after you left, I came close to disassembling it. I could never bring myself to follow through, though. Too many good memories."

I looked to the ceiling. It was as beautiful as I remembered. The stars still burned and the cranes still tangoed between them. It gave me the strength to bear my soul to him.

"Donnie, that night all those years ago…all those terrible things I said. You didn't deserve that. It was completely out-of-line. I'm _so_ sorry…for everything."

He threw his arm around my shoulders and held me close.

"You don't have to apologize." He said. "I've replayed that night in my mind so many times and I'm equally to blame for how things turned out. I was being selfish and unfair. The thought of you leaving terrified me. I wanted you to stay down here so badly that I paid no mind to how _you_ felt about it. I guess I figured that if you stayed, we could be together…"

"I should have stayed…"

"April, look at me." He said; I did. "You were right to go. I wouldn't trade a day we spent together for anything. But long term, it wouldn't have been any kind of life for you. You deserve so much more. You deserve to be a part of the world; you deserve to be seen by others the way that I see you; most of all, though, you deserve happiness. It took me a long time to see it, but I could never give you the life that you deserve."

I laid my head on his shoulder. "You're wrong. I've been on my own for years now and no matter where I go or what I do, it never compares to what I had when I was down here… to what _we _had."

"I'm a lot of things, April, but one thing I rarely am is wrong. Since we met, you've always looked beyond _what_ I am, and treated me like a man when most would have only seen a monster. I can't tell you how grateful I am for that—to feel normal, even for a moment. But one day you'd want more than I'd be able to give. Ordinary things: a walk on the beach, a night on the town…" He choked up, cleared his throat, and continued, his tone dampened by sorrow. "A family… I wouldn't want to wake up one day and realize I held you back…"

"You…won't … You won't h-hold me back…" I mumbled, blinking back tears.

"I would. Maybe not at first, but in time." He said. "I'll always be down here and I'll always want you in my life, but I won't let you give up life on the surface for me. Deep down, whether or not you choose to see it, you know I'm right…"

Time alters love. Young love, no matter how passionate, is selfish, for those who know its virtues fail to look beyond themselves. When love matures, it deepens and expands; it consumes and enriches. It is the capacity to measure one's desires against another's and govern the heart accordingly. When I spurned Donnie, my reasons were petty and shortsighted. I was willing to break his heart and venture into the unknown simply because I was afraid. But when he explained why we couldn't be together, there was no fear—only love.

I cried. He held me as I wept—as my chest heaved and body quaked—and when I ran out of tears, we fell asleep in each other's arms.

* * *

The following morning, I made peace with the guys. I apologized for leaving the way I did, tried to explain how I was feeling at the time, and told them that no matter where I went, they were always in my heart. They were unfailingly gracious—even Raph—and made me feel worthy of their forgiveness. As we ate breakfast, we shared stories of battles past; we remembered the times we shared fondly and laughed until our sides ached. But when the conversation turned to Sensei, the atmosphere turned somber. From a young age, parents seem equal parts omnipotent and immortal—like they will go on forever—and losing them seems unthinkable. Facing that possibility, even for individuals as adaptable as they, was burdensome. That night, I flew back to California with a renewed sense of purpose.

I immersed myself in work. I spent weeks painstakingly recreating Donnie's fusion reactor; after several failed attempts, I finally produced a fully operational reproduction. I patented the design and presented the device to the College Board as part of my Doctoral Thesis. In typical fashion, Donnie was right: the reactor was hailed as a revolutionary step toward clean, sustainable energy. Investors and venture capitalists alike flocked to me seeking a demonstration and the opportunity to fund my research. Within months, I amassed a small fortune, the majority of which I used to purchase the equipment, medicine, and supplies Donnie needed to help Sensei and Raph; the remainder was used to build a cutting edge research laboratory in Lower Manhattan.

For a while, I believed I had it all. My company—Hamato Industries—cracked the Fortune 500, I was named _Time Magazine's_ Person of the Year, and I received my first Nobel Prize in Physics. But as my notoriety grew, I began to feel imprisoned by it and ashamed of it. When people stopped me in the street to thank me for all I had done, I felt like a fraud; when I presented Donnie's inventions to the world, often to great acclaim, I felt like a liar—like I cheated on a test by copying the smart kid's answers; and when I was awarded a second Nobel Prize, I wanted to slip into my shadow and disappear.

My misery is compounded by a sense of duty and injustice. My role as the public face for Donatello's creations can never change, no matter how unbearable it becomes. There are times I desperately want to tell the world the truth, to sacrifice my pristine image for the sake of my integrity, but I know if I do, everything Donnie has created—all of his inventions and hard work—will come crashing down. After all, people fear what they do not understand and reject what they can't explain to preserve the reality in which they choose to live. What pains me most is knowing that the world will never know or thank the individual truly responsible for vastly improving their lives.

* * *

The room still spins. I power down my laptop, speech unfinished, and switch off the lights. I grab the wastebasket by the desk in case the whiskey comes back up and lumber back to bed. Tomorrow, when I wake, I will have to fix a smile to my face and address the world as April O'Neil—scientist, inventor, founder of Hamato Industries, and Nobel laureate. But tonight I can dream of when I was truly fortunate: back to the sewers of New York; to my room of velvet and lace; to a time when his heart belonged to me.

_A/N: Thank you all so much for reading! I would greatly appreciate your feedback! Also, if you have any questions, feel free to send me a PM!_

_-**N.o.S.**_


End file.
